She pointed vaguely toward the grass.
“There.”
Marcus followed her finger.
It indicated roughly thirty feet of lawn.
“More specifically?”
“I don’t remember.”
Nate opened his tablet.
“I can show you where the recorded corridor is.”
Denise rolled her eyes.
“Here comes the cartoon again.”
Nate showed Marcus instead.
The utility map displayed a long shaded strip running down the side of Denise’s lot.
Fifteen feet wide.
Recorded decades earlier.
The utility pole sat nearly in the center of it.
Marcus asked,
“Can you verify this independently?”
“County plat. Utility records. There should also be a field monument.”
Denise looked at him.
“A what?”
“A marker.”
“There is no marker.”
Nate glanced toward the fence.
“There used to be.”
Something changed in Denise’s face.
Small.
Fast.
But Marcus saw it.
“What do you mean, used to be?”
Nate pointed toward the southwest corner.
“Our older maintenance notes mention a concrete utility monument near the boundary.”
Denise folded her arms.
“Well, there isn’t one.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I live here.”
That was not an answer.
Before Marcus could press, a voice came from across the road.
“There was.”
Everyone turned.
Samuel Becker stood beside his mailbox holding a garden hose.
Seventy-six.
Retired carpenter.
Willow Bend resident since 1972.
Denise closed her eyes.
“No.”
Sam looked pleased.
“No what?”
“This does not concern you.”
“You're yelling loud enough that it concerns Cleveland.”
“We are not in Cleveland.”
“My point stands.”
Marcus fought a smile.
Denise pointed toward Sam.
“Officer, this man has harassed me about my fence since the day it was installed.”
Sam laughed.
“I told you not to put it over the utility strip.”
“That is harassment.”
“That is geography.”
“Sam.”
Marcus stepped in.
“Do you know anything factual about the property markers?”
Sam pointed.
“Old concrete block used to sit right there.”
Denise scoffed.
“Forty-year-old memory.”
“Fifty.”
“Even worse.”
Sam continued.
“When they put your new fence in, survey crew had an orange stake about seven or eight feet inside where that fence sits now.”
Denise turned toward Marcus.
“He is lying.”
Sam shook his head.
“Wish my memory was bad enough to forget you yelling at the fence crew for two hours.”
Denise went rigid.
Nate looked toward her.
Marcus did too.
“What argument?”
Denise said immediately,
“There was no argument.”
Sam smiled.
“Sure sounded peaceful.”
“I was clarifying a discrepancy.”
“With screaming?”
“I did not scream.”
From a neighboring porch, someone coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Denise spun toward the houses.
“This is not community entertainment!”
Three people immediately pretended to be doing other things.
Marcus turned back to Nate.
“You said there’s a physical marker.”
“Yes.”
“Can you locate it without going into the fenced area?”
“Probably.”
Nate returned to the truck.
He came back with a magnetic locator.
Denise stepped forward.
“I do not consent.”
Nate stopped.
“I’m not entering your yard.”
“You are searching my property.”
“The grass outside your fence?”
“My property extends to the fence.”
Sam coughed again.
Denise glared at him.
Marcus said,
“Ma’am, allow him to check the public-side strip.”
“I’m documenting this.”
She raised her phone.
“That’s fine.”
“And I want your badge number.”
Marcus gave it to her.
She seemed disappointed that he did not resist.
Nate switched on the locator.
He walked slowly along the outer side of the fence.
The device remained quiet.
Five feet.
Eight.
Ten.
Then—